


Comfort

by missigma



Category: DCU
Genre: Come play, Edging, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missigma/pseuds/missigma
Summary: "Who sent you to check up on me?" was Bruce's only greeting. He barely moved, other than to turn his head towards the place where Clark hung in midair."No one," Clark answered honestly, hovering inches from the railing. "I just heard you had a rough week."His understatement was deliberate. He knew Bruce would not appreciate his pity, and likely would reject even his sincere concern, seeing it as evidence of the former. However, he knew Bruce had been through the grinder, squaring off with Bane in recent days, his own skills tested against brute strength and Bane’s peculiar insight.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old scrap I had laying around that I finally finished enough to post. Hope you enjoy!

Clark found Bruce sitting on the edge of his balcony, one leg stretched out on the railing. He wore black, but not that of his uniform or one of his suits. Today, he wore loose sweatpants and a tight t-shirt, clothes he might wear to train, but did not shelter him from the early morning chill.

"Who sent you to check up on me?" was Bruce's only greeting. He barely moved, other than to turn his head towards the place where Clark hung in midair.  
  
"No one," Clark answered honestly, hovering inches from the railing. "I just heard you had a rough week."  
  
His understatement was deliberate. He knew Bruce would not appreciate his pity, and likely would reject even his sincere concern, seeing it as evidence of the former. However, he knew Bruce had been through the grinder, squaring off with Bane in recent days, his own skills tested against brute strength and Bane’s peculiar insight. It would have been grueling, to be sure, but that was often the norm for Bruce. 

For all the tumult of the previous few days, Clark could not shake the feeling that it was something else that troubled Bruce. Something older and darker. Bruce appeared to have been awake for days. And in spite of Bruce's determination to not let it affect him, it showed clearly in the shadows of his eyes. 

“From who?” Bruce persisted, guard still up.

Bracing himself with his hands on the railing, Clark drifted closer, crowding up against him. “I’m a reporter, you know.”

“So you’re saying your source doesn’t want to be named?” Bruce was teasing now, not bothering to pull away as Clark’s chest pressed into his shoulder. 

“No.” Clark half-chuckled. “I’m saying I read it in the Gazette.”

Fingers grasping gently at Bruce’s jaw, Clark guided him closer until their lips could meet. Bruce seemed only too happy to respond, lifting his arms to drape them over Clark’s shoulders as he put his weight on him.

His lips parted quickly to Clark’s tongue as he yielded himself to him far more easily than he usually would. Bruce still nipped at his tongue, but that did not come close to his often violent kisses. Instead, he seemed content to let Clark explore his mouth, tenderly meeting his tongue with his own.  
  
It was Bruce who pulled away first. Lips still inches from Clark’s, he softly exhaled. "I have a meeting in an hour,” he told him somberly, though he did not try to disentangle himself from him.  
  
"Cancel it." Clark stole another brief kiss from him, before Bruce turned his head to the side. 

"I can't have Bruce Wayne and Batman out of action at the same time." 

A week’s worth of stubble covered Bruce’s chin, rough against Clark’s lips as he worked his way down from the corner of his mouth, to the sensitive underside of his jaw. Never lifting his mouth from Bruce’s skin, Clark nodded slightly towards the phone he could see through the open door, resting on the night table. "I could just call and tell Alfred to cancel it."  
  
"He knows better than to listen to you." Bruce rested a hand on his shoulder to balance himself.  
  
"Surely it’s been too long since you’ve missed work. You wouldn’t want to end up fixing your reputation, would you?” Clark glanced up at him hoping for a smile, before sucking at a spot on his neck. “Just tell them you’re hungover.”  
  
"I've shown up plenty of times 'hungover.'"  
  
Clark straightened, one hand at the back of his neck. "Then tell them you spent the night with someone who just won't let you out of bed."  
  
That brought a hint of a smile to Bruce's lips. He tilted his head back, looking up at Clark. "Who would that be?"  
  
Grinning, Clark kissed him. As he did, he scooped him into his arms, one arm wrapped around his back, the other beneath his knees. For once, Bruce did not object to being carried. Clark wasn’t sure if Bruce genuinely enjoyed the contact or was simply too tired to protest. 

Cradling him against his chest, Clark swooped up over the railing and inside. He turned down the duvet and set him gently on the sheets. However, Bruce refused to let go of him, dragging him onto the mattress with him.

“You should sleep,” Clark tried to tell him, even as he crawled into bed beside him.

“And if I don’t want to sleep?” Bruce turned towards him. Hand sweeping up through the hair at the nape of Clark’s neck, he fit their mouths together again. Pulling back, Clark reached for the phone that lay at the bedside and handed it to Bruce. Bruce turned his phone in his hand, confused.

“Cancel the meeting.”

Bruce paused, long enough for Clark to know that he was irritated that Clark had given him an order. But then a sly smile tugged at his mouth. “Playing dirty, Clark?”

“One way or another, you’re going to miss that meeting.”

Bruce worked his tongue around his mouth, then leaned over Clark as he dialed. He raised the handset to his ear. “Call the office and tell them I need to cancel.”

Laying flat on the bed, Clark easily caught Alfred’s response, “What reason shall I give them, sir?”

“Whatever excuse that I haven’t used in the past month.” He spread his palm over Clark,  rubbing up his chest. “But if they pry, tell them I met a very attractive brunet who won’t let me get out of bed.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. Good morning, sir.” Stabbing at the screen to end the call, Bruce let the phone fall back on the dresser with a clatter. Eyebrow raised, he looked expectantly at Clark. 

Grinning, Clark dove into another kiss, wonderfully excited to give Bruce his reward. Bruce met him with enthusiasm, hands tracing up his shoulders to feel the muscle that lay there, then pulling him closer until gasping he drew back as Clark palmed his cock through his sweatpants. Efficiently, he worked to strip Clark out of his uniform, discarding his suit on the carpet. 

Hiking Bruce’s shirt up, Clark pulled at the elastic waistband of his sweatpants. His hand dove inside, encircling his shaft. While pushing his boxers and sweatpants down his hips, he began to pump his cock. Panting, Bruce briefly shut his eyes as Clark worked his clothes lower still.

“Jesus.” Clark paused, his eyes fixed on Bruce’s thigh. With Bruce’s sweats below his knees, he could see a deep gash a few inches above his left knee. A messy field dressing hung off his leg, partly caught in his sweats, but it was clear that Bruce had otherwise ignored it. The wound was uncleaned, its edges crusted with dried blood and the center still seeping.

“What?”Bruce grumbled, though he clearly understood what it was that Clark was looking at.

“You’re injured.” 

“It’s nothing.” Bruce impatiently reached for him, trying to drag him back in for another kiss.

Clark resisted him, still frowning at the gash. Sighing, Bruce let his head fall back on the bed. “Dammit, Clark.”

“I’m going to go get the first aid kit.”

When Clark returned, Bruce had shifted position so he could prop himself up against the headboard. Ruefully, he looked down at himself to where his cock lay against his thigh, still hard.

Bruce looked up when Clark set the kit on the nightstand. His eyes followed him as he walked around to the foot of the bed and sat there. Carefully, Clark pulled Bruce’s foot into his lap and picked at the laces of his shoe.

“What happened?” 

His query was met with sullen silence. Usually Bruce would offer up explanations, if prompted. Somehow, it was more concerning to consider what Bruce might want to hide.

“Bruce?” Clark tried again, easing the shoe from his foot.

“I fell.”

“How far?”

“I don’t know. I was unconscious.” At that, Clark frowned deeply, his brow furrowed.He dragged Bruce’s boxers and sweatpants off, leaving them in a bundle at the foot of the bed.

“Not far,” Bruce amended, noting his reaction. “Maybe fifteen feet onto a fence. The wire tore up my leg.”

“How long were you out?”Gently, Clark dabbed at the edge of the gash, wiping away the excess blood.

Hissing, Bruce tensed as he cleaned the wound, thick cords of muscle in his thigh stretching taut. He parted his lips, exhaling slowly as he forced himself to relax again. “Close to four hours.”

“And this was last night?”Clark smoothed ointment over his injury, one hand at his knee to hold him as he flinched.

“Night before last,” Bruce gritted out. “I’ve been here since then.”

“Because you can’t walk on it.”

Bruce stiffened. “Not well,” he admitted. 

Clark let his hands linger on Bruce, caressing the inside of his thigh. He glanced up to find Bruce’s eyes intent on him, though his face remained coached into his normal impassiveness. His gaze dipped down and Clark could see just how much he was affecting his cock.

However, Clark was not yet willing to give him more, frustrated by how poorly Bruce took care of himself. Though he felt like a nag as he said it, he asked, “If I take off your shirt, will I find anything else? Any other injuries?”

Bruce pressed his lips together in annoyance. Normally, Clark wouldn’t dare to push him this far. Bruce’s pride was such that he would often rather throw him out than admit any weakness. But tonight, Bruce was exhausted and pliant. He was desperate too, after Clark had spent so much time with his hands on him.

Lips twisted petulantly, Bruce dragged his shirt off over his head. Underneath, his chest bore the same scars Clark was familiar with. There were newer marks too, mostly bruises and scrapes he had accrued in their last few weeks apart. However, there were no terrible injuries, nothing else he had kept hidden. For the most part, he was whole.

Clark bestowed another kiss on his lips, and Bruce immediately opened up to him. He returned the contact with open-mouthed hunger, threading his fingers through his hair.

Pulling away, Clark trailed a steady line of kisses down his sternum. Reaching the bottom of his ribcage, he continued downwards, grinning when Bruce twitched slightly as his lips brushed against a place a few inches below his navel. He kissed the spot again wetly and veered sharply to the right.

Pointedly avoiding Bruce’s cock, Clark instead sucked at a spot on the inside of Bruce’s unmarked thigh. He dipped down, starting close to Bruce’s knee and ending near the junction of his leg and his pelvis. 

Finally, Clark took pity on him and took his cock in his hand. He gave Bruce a few leisurely strokes before he lowered his mouth to the crown of his cock. Bruce hummed slightly in his throat as Clark sucked at the sensitive head, tonguing gently at him. Briefly letting go, Clark licked him from root to tip in one broad stripe.

Flicking his eyes up to Bruce, Clark caught his gaze. He exhaled gently, and Bruce shifted as a cool breeze brushed over hot flesh. 

“Clark,” Bruce growled. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Clark smirked, knowing that was as close as he would get to “please.” Happily, he took Bruce’s cock into his mouth, sucking him down.

“Fuck, you’re good.” Bruce stroked his thumb along Clark’s cheekbone. He combed his fingers through Clark’s curls, pushing them off his forehead. Then he tangled his hand in his hair, holding him firmly.

Clark reached back and seized his wrist. Quickly, his disentangled Bruce’s hand from his hair and pinned it to the bed at his side. Bruce grunted a mild protest, but did not fight him.

“Feeling pushy today, Kansas?”

Clark hummed noncommittally around his cock, as much to hear Bruce moan as to attempt to reply. He did not pull off to offer an actual response. Instead, he slid his hand around the back of Bruce’s thigh, feeling the muscle tense and flex as he worked his cock with his tongue.

By the ragged catch in Bruce’s breathing, Clark could tell he was close. He swallowed around him, taking him as deep as he could. Bruce rocked gently into his throat. It was not enough to risk gagging him, but Clark grasped at his hips anyways, holding him still. 

“Clark,” Bruce hissed, muscles straining as he sought to press himself farther into his mouth. Clark let go of his hips for a brief moment and Bruce thrust upwards, fucking his throat. “Shit,” he groaned.

Abruptly, Clark pulled off. Desperate for more contact, Bruce rolled his hips up into the empty air. Clark leaned back on his heels and watched as his thighs flexed one, two, three times. He wondered if that hurt, but Bruce seemed to have forgotten his injury long ago.

Gasping, Bruce sagged back on the bed. His face was flushed, a few strands of his hair plastered to his forehead by sweat. He did not attempt to touch himself, though he pressed his palms into the mattress, as if it took great effort to refrain.

“Are you punishing me?” he asked, his tone just shy of accusatory. He was far too breathless to pull off the intended effect.

To be honest, Clark wasn’t, or at least he hadn’t meant to. When he flew to Gotham, he had only meant to check up on Bruce. But from the moment he had laid eyes on Bruce, his very best intentions had all collided like dominoes to end up here.

“Yes,” Clark replied.

“For what?”

“Not taking care of yourself.”

Bruce let out a darkly amused huff. “This won’t be the last time for that.”

Carefully, Clark took Bruce’s cock between his thumb and index finger and slowly stroked him. Bruce whined. It was not enough to do anything more than torment him.  Pressing a kiss to the crown of Bruce’s cock, Clark worked his way down, kissing and sucking at his flesh. As his lips moved lower, he lifted Bruce’s uninjured thigh, spreading him open.

He put the tip of his tongue to him, tracing a lazy circle around his hole. Beneath him, Bruce twitched, then opened his legs wider. Clark pressed the flat of his tongue against him, licking at the quivering muscle and pressing a little deeper with each stroke of his tongue.

As he licked Bruce open, Clark pushed his index inside him. With only saliva to ease his passage, Bruce hissed as he took the digit. The burn of it showed clearly on his face, though he soon ground down on him, groaning softly. For that, Clark gave him another finger, working it into him slowly, before curling upwards, searching for the right place inside him.

Unused to passivity, Bruce struggled to keep his hands to himself. He twisted the sheets in his fists and curled his toes against the mattress. When Clark again took him in his mouth, it seemed take all of the tattered resolve he had left to keep him from grabbing hold of him by his hair and immediately coming hot on his tongue.

“Clark, please.”Desperately, Bruce pushed himself down on Clark’s fingers, trying to get him deeper, before rocking up into his mouth, movements growing jerky.

Clark pulled away once more, grinning teasingly. Bruce swore and seized at him with his hands, trying to drag him back in. “Fuck you, you fucking--” his words froze in his throat as Clark took him back in his mouth. Instead, a strangled cry escaped him as he came, back arched and hips flexing up, pushing towards the back of his throat.

After those few frantic seconds, Bruce fell back limply against the mattress. He whined as Clark withdrew his fingers, thighs open on the sheets. Fingers sliding clumsily down the muscle of Clark’s stomach, Bruce reached for him. He found his cock, only for Clark to bat his hand away.

Lifting one leg, Clark straddled Bruce’s chest, hand at his own cock. Quickly, he worked at himself, intent on claiming Bruce as his own. Bruce seemed to understand his aim and lay back, using the moment to catch his breath.

At Clark’s ragged moan, Bruce reflexively shut his eyes. His lips remained parted, tongue sneaking out as the first spurt of cum fell across his cheek and jaw. The second largely struck his tongue, cum seeping slowly into his mouth where he greedily swallowed it. The third marked him from eyebrow to cheekbone, beading sticky in his lashes.

Clark squeezed the last of his cum into Bruce’s mouth, pressing the head of his cock to his lips. Bruce lapped up the string,, eyes fluttering open. Cupping Bruce’s chin in his hand, Clark lifted his head slightly, as if admiring his handiwork. 

Then, he reached over the side of the bed to snag Bruce’s discarded shirt and wipe him clean. Clark folded him in his arms, arranging them both against the the pillows and nuzzled against his throat. When Bruce turned towards him, he only mumbled, “Go to sleep.”

“Do you really expect me to sleep after that?” Bruce rasped.

“I don’t care what you do, but you’re staying in bed with me today.” Clark caught Bruce’s wandering hands, clamping his wrists in a vise-like grip. “To rest,” he amended.

“We’ll see,” Bruce smirked, but for the moment seemed perfectly content to lay his head on Clark’s bicep.


End file.
